


Arrowhead

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Ashes to Ashes [10]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cameos, DC Comics Cameo, M/M, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: The front door opened and he was surprised to be greeted by the man himself. He looked little different from the video files, the speeches; a man in his mid-forties, greying ginger hair, lively eyes and a charming sort of demeanour. He wore black pants, a white shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and an asymmetrical black vest. "Mr Kent. Good to meet you."He didn't look like the type who wanted gushing and fawning so he went for modestly respectful. "Likewise, Mr. Khushrenada. I'm honored that out of all of the media out there you've chosen to speak to the Daily Planet."
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada
Series: Ashes to Ashes [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711870
Kudos: 4





	Arrowhead

It was a once in a lifetime assignment, Perry had said in between bouts of swearing wildly because holy shit and also, why Clark Kent? But it would put the Daily Planet on the map -- more than the map of New Canada, but the world's map. The man had spoken to no media outlets since Missing in Action had been turned to Repatriated, though he had been 'caught' on camera in the town of Bath repeatedly with his daughter and a rumored former Gundam Pilot.

He wasn't a complete fool; Clark was aware that he had a reputation as a more empathetic, humanistic type of reporter -- or as Lois put it, being a soft touch. He believed he could get to more of the truth in a less aggressive way than she favored considering she wanted to basically kick down the door most of the time.

So here he was, in his best cheap suit, waiting to be shown to where Treize Khushrenada was waiting, having already been given his data pack of the facts and figures they were willing to let him have ahead of time.

He was driven there by the agent who had brokered it all and dumped off with a warning to call when he was done. The driveway from the start of the estate to the house itself was interesting, and the house was set back from the road with bushes and some interesting fencing at the front. He'd enjoyed being flown into London and housed overnight in Bath all on the Daily Planet's dime. Even if it went to hell, he at least had a nice trip there and back before Perry buried him.

After Lois murdered him. Jimmy was probably going to murder him first because he'd been told to bring a camera and expect any pictures he took to be reviewed beforehand. But the instructions had been clear. Just one person, in and out.

As exclusives went, it was very exclusive. The whole area was very... green. This part of the country was surprisingly green and fresh and he could see why it was a good place to be a recluse. He reached the door and rang the bell and knocked, stepping back to take in the manor house entrance. It exuded age and gentility. It was very well tended, and upgraded to modern times with subtlety. If he looked harder, he could see the security cameras and the sensors, the solar panels on the roof tiles, all designed in a way that didn't take away from the age of the place. Fascinating really, the age of the place and that the sheer history was allowed to dominate. Perhaps it was a reflection of the man he had come to interview; embracing the modern, venerating the past. Might make an angle.

He'd hold onto that thought, see where it ended up.

The front door opened and he was surprised to be greeted by the man himself. He looked little different from the video files, the speeches; a man in his mid-forties, greying ginger hair, lively eyes and a charming sort of demeanour. He wore black pants, a white shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and an asymmetrical black vest. "Mr Kent. Good to meet you."

He didn't look like the type who wanted gushing and fawning so he went for modestly respectful. "Likewise, Mr. Khushrenada. I'm honored that out of all of the media out there you've chosen to speak to the Daily Planet."

"I read a great deal. I enjoyed your article on corruption in the New Kansas state house, and Governor Hargreaves's misdeeds." That... was well over a year old, and interesting. "Please, call me Treize. Would you like a coffee?" He stepped into the hallway, clearly expecting Clark to follow.

"Yes, please, if it's not too much trouble, " he replied, falling back on his Smallville manners. "Thank you, Treize, and please call me Clark. This is a lovely place. You can practically feel the history in it."

"I find it quite relaxing here. It's been in my family for about two hundred years, some great great Khushrenada something bought it from a broke British Lord, and we've done our best not to damage the historical value while upgrading it over the years to keep it livable." He led the way comfortably, winding through a sitting room to a wide open kitchen. The table in the middle of the room seemed to be nothing special, but it was well used. Treize headed for the coffee machine.

Clark recognized the coffee machine as a high end import. "My mom would very much approve. She loves her coffee," he said lightly. "She'd love this place though it's as far away from a farm in New Kansas as you can get. Did you spend much time here when you were growing up?"

"Just for Christmas. My mother was very traditional, and her second husband was a Catalonia so she always put stock in religious observation. I grew up in the military academy in Lake Victoria, near Entebbe." He opened a glass fronted cabinet to pull out two bland mugs. "Because that's what one does when you marry a young widow and want to clean the slate."

Send away the children. "That must have been pretty hard, being away from them then. Were you really young?"

"I was a bit under Mariemaia's age, so eight. Graduated at twelve, first mission in a mech six months later." He had a wry expression as he leaned against the counter while the coffee machine pressurized. "I'm afraid most of the color is out of the house right now. Mariemaia started school last week, and Wufei has gone to town because, and I quote, 'the last thing I need is to end up in the news ever again for as long as I live.' "

That was skirting around admitting that Wufei was one of the Gundam pilots. There had been plenty of news about them but it always fell short of solid identification. "I'm sure there's plenty enough color right here," Clark said. "I knew you must have started early but most kids would be worrying mainly about high school pettiness at that age, not missions. "

"I was a flight instructor at the academy by seventeen." He opened the fridge, grabbing milk, and then pulled a sugar bowl out from its spot on the wall. Clark had seen the humble active at home ploy before, but it was usually bungled by someone who didn't actually know where their milk or sugar was. "So I'm very concerned about making sure my daughter has as much of a normal childhood as possible. The Romefeller Foundation was built for war. They trained their children to be the elite fighters, and surprising to no one, war was what we got."

Treize Khushrenada made his own coffee and saw to himself. He would be willing to bet that most people would have an image of Lord of the Manor being waited on hand, foot, and finger by servants.

"There comes a point where a normal childhood and a good relationship with your family sets you apart rather than as one of the crowd, " Clark said with a faint smile. "Where should I sit? I'm sorry, I just let my curiosity get the better of me then."

"No, no, I'm assuming you have a tape recorder or are making notes, so..." He waved his right hand idly, and then used it to pick up each coffee cup in turn. "Milk, sugar? Carry on, you know what you're doing. Do you prefer here or outside on the patio?"

"Wherever you're most comfortable," he replied. "Although I hear sunshine here isn't something to waste." He hadn't been making notes, but his memory would make it seem like he had.

"It's a cherished thing," he agreed, pouring milk into both cups with a bit of sugar. Somewhere along the line, he'd tucked his left hand into his pocket and it stayed there casually even as he passed Clark a cup. "I've been spending a great deal of time just lounging in the garden; since Mariemaia was raised in the colonies, the whole sky and real rain has been fascinating for her. Have you ever been up to the colonies?"

"Not yet, but I'd like to some day," Clark offered. One day he'd get up there, by some way or another. He followed Treize out onto the patio and took a seat. "I can see why you spend time here. It's easy to get distracted. I suppose we'd better get out the recorder if that's okay." He fished it out and put it on the table in front of them.

Something was bothering him about his hand.

Even so, his posture seemed cooler than cool standing there on the patio for a moment, relaxed like everything was so very okay. The man carried himself so effortlessly that he could have been modeling the suit he was wearing, and then he sat, leaning back casually, and slouching down slightly. "It's fine. I'm very happy to have retired here. There are swans that come up out of the small river at the back side, and plenty of room for Wufei to try to teach us katas in the morning."

He got the camera out, too, and snapped a quick picture as well as it seemed natural and effortless and the pose looked completely casual. "So Treize," he said getting out his notebook and pen. "Perhaps we should start with why you felt an interview would be a good thing now.”

"I'm tired of curious information seekers jumping out at my family when we're in town. I hope to dispel any mystery and make it much less exciting to keep doing that." He picked up his coffee cup for a sip and then seemed content to cradle it in both hands.

"It was quite the sensation when you were announced to be found alive again," Clark said. "Could you tell me what actually happened?"

His bright and easy smile flagged a little, tugged a bit more wryly. "You'll have to bear with me for a slight time deviation. About eleven years ago, I maneuvered my mobile suit to protect my commo officer from a missile that was launched at us. It struck my suit and tipped me wrong on re-entry. If you're in a mech, crossing the barrier between space and atmosphere, breaking atmo incorrectly is usually fatal. The g forces, the unshielded landing, the heat... My unit broke atmo correctly, safely, and I went down hard, unboostered, and shattered and burned my back. I couldn't be moved, so I was left at a military hospital on X18999, the main L3 colony. Spent the whole time completely out of my mind on drugs," he chuckled, "and at some point during my stay I had relations with a young nurse. Leia Barton. I got well enough to rejoin the Specials, and left, unaware that I now had a tie to the colony." He took another sip of coffee, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"Were you recovering all this time?" Clark asked. "You seem to have no permanent injury disability and from what you say, you were very severely injured."

"It bothers me now and again," he confessed. "But I healed correctly. I got lucky. I'm a very lucky man. Gundam Pilot 05 struck a fatal blow during the last battle of the Eve War, and I survived in my cockpit. Scavengers found me and one of the last remaining powers in the colonies, L3 and the Barton family... Graciously had me taken care of." There was perhaps a bit of a lie there, right at the end. It was very strange, because everything so far had struck Clark as very true.

Better circle back to that. "Do you remember much of it yourself?" he asked. "It sounds exceptionally traumatic." Gundam 05, he'd lay odds that that was this Wufei, which made no sense at all. Who tried to kill their own... partner? Lover? Why would someone do that?

"It rather was," he drawled. "Between then and my repatriation, I was in very intense medical care. With enough surgeries and physical therapy, most everything is back and working the way it belongs. I've been up on my feet and walking again only for about six months. No one complains if I need to nap away the afternoon."

"I would never have known if you hadn't told me," Clark said. "You must have had truly excellent medical care." There, a flicker again. Clark couldn't help himself and looked at the other man with his x-ray vision and only just managed to stifle a reaction.

The man's body was crawling with what he could only guess were nanites. Everyone had heard rumors of them, suggestions, and they had existed in the far past, before the Great Collapse and before the colonies, but the former twice leader of the world just seemed to be flooded with them. They were clustered around his wrist, his hips, his shoulders, his left eye, and they seemed to be busy at work. "I..." The man closed his eyes for a moment, smiling. "You have to understand there are still politics at work in the world. X18999 is a colony that was wronged. All of the colonies have suffered immense loss, and no one wants to be the spark to the powder keg. I am very glad to have been successfully repatriated, and that X18999 allowed my daughter to leave with me after the death of her grandfather."

Clark smiled slightly. He knew a practiced phrase when he heard one. "Politics frequently get in the way of life and living. From what you've said, I'm pretty sure I know what your answer will be, but do you have any plans or urges to rejoin the political arena?"

"None at all." He relaxed, and took another sip of coffee, seeming to prefer the shift of topic quite openly, an easy signal for Clark to follow. "I'm going to turn that shed back there," and he gestured with the coffee cup and his right hand toward a rather large structure off to the side of the property, "into a workshop, and tinker to my heart's content. I just can't do it anymore. There isn't a place in the world anymore for what I was, and there shouldn't be. We need peace."

"Would it be fair to say you're still convalescing?" Clark asked, mentally mulling over how to present the man.

"It's fair to say that I'm going to be convalescing for the rest of my life. Some of my injuries were quite traumatic. Again, I'm a lucky, lucky man." He tipped his head back to look up at the sky for a moment. "I fully expected to die in that battle, and many Earth and colony soldiers did die in our attempt to stop White Fang. All of them would be quite glad to be sitting out on a porch on a nice day, wouldn't they?"

"True enough," Clark agreed. He was plotting how to pick up on that flatness around the Barton family. "You said you were planning to tinker -- anything in particular? My dad has tinkered with his tractor for so long I think he's rebuilt it completely piece by piece."

"I've been banned from building mobile suits -- not officially banned, you know, I have enough common sense not to, but I think it would also displease the rest of my house -- so I'm thinking about restoring some of the vehicles I've got lying around my various properties. I have a gorgeous old Defender, it's nearly eighty years old, and it needs to be reworked from the ground up. I can see the allure of re-parting a tractor." His body language was casual, relaxed, easy, and Clark could see how the man had charmed his way to the top of the political ladder before he'd overthrown it with OZ.

"I have no doubt you can find lots of projects to work on. " Clark said. "Can you tell me a little more about your daughter?"

"Mariemaia Barton Khushrenada." Clearly he had no question as to her parentage. "She's ten. She likes the color orange to the point where I sometimes think my eyes are going to bleed from it. She's a great reader, and has been showing an interest in recent historical classics, mostly in the fantasy realm. She hasn't successfully managed a bicycle yet, but neither have I, and she has been leaving serious hints that she would like a puppy for Christmas." He took a sip of his coffee. "Her mother died quite suspiciously when she was three. The Barton family have been dogged by murder and assassination as much as my own family. I still believe their patriarch was responsible for the bombing that killed my father, but I can't prove it. And for shooting my brother and mother. Colonies against Earth, you see, and all of that needs to stop. It needed to stop decades ago."

"That must have been exceptionally difficult to deal with emotionally in your recovery if you were with them. To have all that history," Clark murmured.

"It was." He gave Clark a look that was considering, mouth a bit compressed. "And it wasn't an easy recovery. The power source on my Gundam was breached, so there was quite a bit of electricity. I haven't had a seizure now in, oh, probably a week. So imagine coming to after a horrifying battle, bleeding, in immense pain, seizing, which just makes everything a hallucinatory hellscape, and facing a man you personally blame for a great number of your family tragedies."

Clark put his notebook down. "That must have been horrifying. I take it they weren't pleasant hosts?"

"I..." He watched the once deposed, once missing in battle, former leader of the world tilt his head slightly, and he let the silence stretch because that was an important part of journalism even if Lois swore it wasn't. Giving a subject time. "It was a very long two and a half years. Most of it wasn't good. I believe that Dekim Barton let me live because he knew he was old and wanted his daughter to still have family. I tell myself that because I don't otherwise know why I'm still alive, given what happened."

"You've implied that a few times, as if you were more than ready to have your life end. Is that correct?" he asked. They had definitely not been good hosts from Treize's minor shift in expression.

And he'd only been walking again for as many months as it had been since ESUN had issued the then stunning repatriation notice. Two and a half years was starting to sound more like a prisoner situation, not rehab. "Yes." He set his coffee cup, half empty, on the table between them, looking thoughtful. "When I was put under house arrest, after being asked to resign the first time, the war took a turn for the worse as the 'Treize Faction' stepped up -- thousands of soldiers fighting in my name for what they believed was my cause. When White Fang rose up, I left my exile to keep Queen Relena from having to throw aside her peaceful ideals to deal with the threat. I wanted to end the war, and I didn't want anyone looking to me for guidance on how to hold a peace together. So I chose an enemy on the battlefield I could predict."

That was as near an admission of a suicidal death wish as he would ever get. "One you knew had a chance to defeat you, and so that you could be seen to be ended."

"Yes." He seemed delighted that Clark had followed along so well. "And that would have put the matter to rest." He picked up the coffee cup again, watching Clark.

"Do you believe your accomplishments were separate to you then?" Clark asked. The experience he'd had before was that those who accomplished great things rarely let go of them even in death. They felt ownership. Treize had more of a... how to describe it, a parental bond and was willing to sacrifice himself as a father would for their child. That or he was so weary of life and the pressure of war that death would have been a relief. He wanted to find out which way it went.

"That's an interesting way to put it, but yes. I could see what would happen if I held on to power, or even abdicated, and it would have made those deaths in the Eve Wars pointless. Nothing would have changed." He glanced alertly over out across the lawn as a swan crossed behind some bushes. "The world needed a change. So! And change we got."

"And do you feel regret for surviving or for living?" Clark asked quietly. Parental figure then, a sense of obligation and personal responsibility for the deaths in the wars.

He snorted, and kept his eyes out over the lawn. "This is a question I can't answer without making either my partner or my daughter wonder what's going on in my head. I feel guilty for surviving when so many didn't. And I also feel it's my obligation not to waste this opportunity."

"My understanding is that it's natural to feel guilty for surviving when many others haven't," Clark replied. "You've said you don't want a return to politics so aside from tinkering, how are you intending not to waste your opportunity?"

Right on cue it seemed, and he watched the man's mouth twitch casually. "The colonies still need help. L2 has a power generation problem because they're on the dark side of the moon. L4 was damaged badly in the war. L3 has yet to be fully completed and stabilized. There are scientific advances that are needed but don't yet exist. I have a great deal of money, and a great deal of interest in helping young scientists from around the world bring their solutions forward."

"Ah, and you'd like to get the word out?" Clark said with a faint smile. Yes, he could definitely protect the man from speculation with that angle. No one would believe that Treize Khushrenada was going to be happy pottering around in his backyard, but sponsoring ambitious scientific research, yes that would be understood, applauded and completely in keeping with his reputation.

"I'll have my solicitor give you the fund site and grant application page. Yes, I'd like to get the word out." He sat up slightly straighter, tucking his left hand into his pocket as it seemed to spasm. "Peace will fall apart if structural inequalities continue unaddressed. Look at everything the Winner family has been doing to repair L4 -- I think all of us who have the means have an obligation to help address those inequalities. ESUN is doing the heavy lifting, but they can't get everywhere."

"Do you want to stop a moment?" Clark asked noting the issue. The concentration of active movement of the nanites was very high there.

He gave a tight sort of nod, bringing his hand out of his pocket and rubbing at it with his right hand after setting his coffee cup down. "Sorry, it's a damn pain in the ass. There's no controlling it."

"I've had a few issues with things like that myself," Clark said. "Can I get you anything? Help in any way?" He really couldn't help himself sometimes, the words were out of his mouth before he could even think it through.

"No, but thank you." He seemed to press harder on his wrist, and closed his eyes for a moment. "I've tried ignoring it, but it makes it very disconcerting. It'll pass."

"If it helps, I can take a few scenic photos of your swans for a bit," Clark suggested. "Until it sorts itself." There was nothing worse than having to hold it together because someone was there when all you wanted to do was swear a lot.

"You know, that would be an excellent idea. Just watch where the lawn transitions to the stream, the grasses are a bit thick and I think we've all fallen in at least once." He wasn't standing up, just gestured with his chin out toward the lawn for Clark to explore. Not many people did that, just let a reporter run loose.

Clark nodded and went for a wander. Treize was a very complex man, a genuine man at heart in his opinion, but one who was a consummate user of statecraft. He had no question he'd been picked for his very specific writing style and because the man had an agenda. It seemed to be an excellently useful agenda, if it actually yielded results.

The gardens were relaxing, full of loosely trimmed flowers, birds, bird feeders, and of course the swans who knew where some of the best mooching in town was. They could be quite territorial at times but he managed to get a few good shots. Later he'd ask and see if he could do the shot for the article down here with Treize and the swans who were so well trained that they seemed to come and investigate visitors at the water's edge.

He wanted to get across a certain image though -- he had a lot of material, but he wanted to give an impression of Treize wanting to leave a legacy of peace and progress for his daughter, not death and chaos. This was something he was better at doing than Lois. Writing about motivations and life rather than hard hitting tearing people down stories.

He was just about to turn around and head back to the patio when he heard the man approaching, hands tucked idly into his pockets again. Treize limped a little, favoring his right side, but he was still confident and at ease as he picked his way down the grassy path. "Sorry about that again. Have you gotten on well with the swans?"

"They seem keen to frisk me for food," Clark said. "I was thinking a nice shot for the article might be you down here with them, if that's okay? My friend Jimmy will despair of me if I don't attempt to do a proper photoshoot."

Treize looked deeply amused by the suggestion, and nodded. "Absolutely. This is going to amuse the hell out of my family. Where do you want me?"

"If I go over here so the light is in the right place and you just interact with the swans as you would normally," he suggested. He was just going to take multiples of everything he did and hope that photoshop magic would make them look quality.

Jimmy was going to yell at him no matter what he did. "Right." And then the man sat down on the grassy bank, and they arrowed in for him, looking for food. And they weren't disappointed as he fished a beat up looking small bag from his pocket of what Clark could only guess was swan food. "Yes, hello greedy things, I know Mariemaia fed you this morning, this is a treat."

He snapped shot after shot; the light was interesting, the swans obligingly photogenic. He wasn't an expert but he finally caught one that he really liked: Treize in the process of looking up, catching the light in his eyes and a faint smile to his exceptionally well known profile, and the swan doing the same, white feathers made pristine by the light as it curved its neck slightly mirroring the shape of the human feeding it.

Nicely framed, nicely symbolic. The swan was a symbol of peace and love, after all.

"Thank you, I think I have enough," Clark said. "I just had a few more questions I thought of before I came down here." He smiled a little. "The downside of me getting out of the way."

"That sounds fine, let me get out of here before they start to eat my vest." He ruffled one fondly, familiarly, behind its ear hole, and then stood up unsteadily. Once he was standing again, he stood still for a moment, eyes closed, before moving to lead the way back up the path. "I know you probably work as a team, but I've rather become accustomed to a narrowed down world, and since I can keep it that way..."

Narrowed down world supported the prisoner conclusion. "I don't blame you for that. It just might not be as professional looking a picture as if the trained photographer did it. Though I think I've got some he won't reject out of hand."

"That's fine. Everyone already knows what I look like, they probably don't need a reminder. Except no uniform. That's new." He wasn't associated with anything, wearing the uniform of anyone but a civilian and yes, that was important.

"And probably at least a part of the point," Clark murmured. "And that with your persona as a father was something I wanted to get a few more comments on."

"You'll probably have to prompt me, the only pocket talking points I had were the grant startup and X18999," he said with an easy smile.

"So, how is life as a father?" Clark asked. "A shock to the system?"

"Not as much as I expected!" He sat back down in his chair as they reached the patio again. "I spent so long as an instructor and tactical level leader that it's come quite naturally. I think some of my surviving direct reports can attest to that, unfortunately. I did have a running panic for about two days in my head that I was completely incapable, and had no idea what I was doing, and I probably still don't, but what she needs most is someone who cares and is interested."

"That does sum up looking after kids," Clark agreed. "Tell me a little about her? That you're willing to share."

"I told you the highlights earlier. I'd rather she have her privacy. But one day she's going to do something amazing in the world." His mouth tugged wryly again. "Of course, everyone says that. But she's going to have a lot of expectations to deal with. She's so very bright, perceptive, and thoughtful. And I will support her in whatever she wants to do."

"Thank you. Are you willing to say anything about your partner?" Clark asked. "I'm just looking at creating an impression... more about you than them if you know what I mean?"

"Yes, well, it'll get out eventually, as much as Wufei would rather it not. You could call him a reclusive businessman with extensive holdings in China and the Middle East, and I think you'd nail it. Chang Wufei is the last of his clan, and is quietly making a name for the Liung clan through charity and other business deals that rather bore me. As a person, I wouldn't be alive right now without him. And my life would be much harder, much emptier without Wufei. Even if occasionally I wonder why he puts up with me."

"I generally find that's the case if someone cares about you," Clark replied with a faint smile. "It's a definite source of confusion. So, last questions, just to add a little bit of color to the story. Best possible outcome for your charitable science research foundation? Do you want renowned minds to apply and in what fields initially?"

He had information in the pack but this way he could quote.

"The best possible outcome is that we fund something that improves the lives of colonists and those here on Earth. That we fund something that takes humanity even further out, to Mars or beyond; safe and self-sustaining. I want both the renowned minds, the graduate students sitting in a lab with a wild, completely crazy idea. I probably have a grade ten equivalent for my formal education, and I've built mobile suits from scratch. Our world has been disrupted by war, and a lot of people have found themselves on nontraditional paths. I don't want to lose the chance to fund something that could change the world because a young scientist or a kid who's handy with a wrench thinks that their idea doesn't hold weight without a PhD behind it. If you're a chemist, engineer, physicist, environmental researcher, biologist, agriculturist, epidemiologist, there's a list on that website that has the kinds of proposals we're looking for in your field." The passion was bright and obvious in his eyes when he said it, and it didn't feel canned, though he clearly was aware he was being recorded. "People doing their very best has always been what's improved the world."

"That's a great way to put it," Clark said. The quotes would scarcely have to be edited. "It sounds like a brilliant initiative. Does it literally cover any field of science?"

"Yes, and if someone has a proposal that there isn't a specific request linked for, there's an option to just fill in whatever proposal they have and submit it."

"And it will benefit those on Earth and the colonies?" he asked just figuring to ensure that angle was covered and to stop potential commentary dropping back into the us and them territory.

"Yes. Both sides. We can't have this be us versus them." He paused after a moment and added as if it had slipped his mind, "Did I mention my partner was born on L5?"

"No, but it adds to the picture." Clark replied. "So is there anything else that you want to add that I've failed to go over? I believe I have enough for a good story."

"I think you might." He leaned back in the chair, looking thoughtfully at Clark. "I hope this has been worth your time, Mr. Kent. I'm looking forward to seeing how your career continues to develop."

He turned off the recorder and put away his notepad. "Thank you for the opportunity, it's been fascinating." He hesitated a moment, uncertain of whether to say something. "Mr. Khushrenada, Treize... I just wanted to caution you, if I can see the... omission in your story regarding what occurred with the Bartons, others will, too." Lois would home in on that no matter how he spun it. And if he missed it out altogether, that would be even worse.

"Yes, but there are things we don't talk about in polite society," he said while standing up, bracing himself slightly on the patio table. "Rape and torture fall under that category. These things happen in war as revenge for other crimes. I have no ill regard for L3, just regrets that they weren't better served by my forces."

"I'm afraid some of my professional uh... colleagues wouldn't know polite society if it came up to them and propositioned them," Clark told him. "I'll try to do justice to your own attitude towards them. I hope you won't be disappointed in what I produce."

"I'm sure you will. You're an honest reporter, Mr. Kent. I hope you enjoy the privilege of staying that way." He offered him a handshake before moving to lead him out of the house.

Clark gave him a smile as he shook his hand in response. The article was coming together in his mind. He should be able to polish it on the trip back, get it how he wanted it, showing Treize Khushrenada as a human rather than a historical figure who everyone thought they knew about. One that could rise above his own suffering, but who had still experienced it.

Yes, he had a tone, a philanthropic angle and plenty of content.

Perry might actually be happy with the work he produced for once.


End file.
